


Things Owed -- Need

by Akamaimom



Series: Things Owed [9]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6747442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akamaimom/pseuds/Akamaimom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the "Things Owed" series. A group of one-shot episode tags. Jack and Sam have sacrificed a lot for each other over the years. Neither of them like the idea of being in debt to the other. Sam/Jack Ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Owed -- Need

 

**Things Owed**

**Need**

_I know that it seems like it, but I truly don't hate Daniel._

_Still, you've got to kind of admit that this episode was largely his fault._

 

 

"So." Daniel gathered his papers into a tidy pile and gave them a few good taps on the table to even up the edges. "I think that we should tread lightly with the Pichits, rather than send in another fighting team. In my opinion, this dispute could be settled diplomatically rather than using force."

O'Neill groaned. It wasn't for the first time since the meeting had been convened. They'd been stuck on this point for the better part of an hour, now, without getting any closer to a consensus. SG-10 had been scheduled to return that morning, but when the 'Gate had opened, only one team member had emerged through the event horizon. Wounded and exhausted, he'd collapsed on the ramp. It had taken the genius of Dr. Fraiser to patch him up enough to be able to tell them what had gone wrong. To make matters worse, General Hammond was in DC briefing some committee about budgetary matters.

Which put the Colonel in charge until Hammond's return. Which kind of sucked.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, O'Neill breathed out heavily. "Daniel, they're holding five of our men. They've killed two others. All it would take is a surgical strike by SG-6 and 7 and we'd have our people back. Then, we'd be able to take control of the bridge again."

"The bridge isn't what you want. The mine on the other side of the bridge is your real goal."

"Which we should already have control of, since the diplomatic team has already brokered this deal." Flickering a look around the room, Jack ran his fingers through his hair. "We've had teams on this planet for weeks. The Pichits are the ones that reneged on the agreement, not us."

"It was a cultural issue. Can't you try to understand that?"

"I, for one, am still confused as to why the Pichits suddenly became so angered." At the other end of the table, Teal'c had sat quietly during most of the discussion. "Until today, they had appeared satisfied with the arrangements."

Daniel's long-suffering sigh seemed more than a little dramatic. "They objected to the lead engineer. She wasn't what they were expecting."

"It was because she was a _she_ , Teal'c," Carter had been quiet up until now. "Unlike the Picts on Earth, whose lineage and inheritance was passed down through their maternal lines, the Pichits' society on this planet has evolved into one that is strictly patriarchal, and women don't belong anywhere but in the home or tending to domestic chores. Those who don't follow the rules are apparently given harsh penalties. Major Erickson refused to accept the punishment one village leader demanded she submit to, and her team backed her up."

"They should have tried to talk their way out of the situation." Jackson's eyes were wide behind his glasses. "They should have tried to explain things rather than simply extricating this engineer from the village."

"From what Sergeant Slater said, the village elders had no interest at all in discussing the matter." Carter picked up the pencil that lay atop her folder. Running the pad of her thumb absently across the eraser, she shifted her gaze between Daniel and the Colonel before continuing. "I'm not sure what else the team could have done."

Daniel made a guttural noise, which he punctuated with a sharp jab towards Carter with his pencil. "Sam, you know that we've been successful in dealing with many different cultures, each of whom had their own proclivities and beliefs. Our best bet is to find common ground and then work from there. Gain their trust."

"Unless they're Genghis Khan acolytes, then you have to beat the snot out of them." For the briefest moment, Jack's gaze met Carter's. Her cheek, rather than her mouth, hinted at a smile. He prided himself on his ability to amuse her. He'd take it. Sighing--again--he turned back towards Daniel. "Diplomacy doesn't always work."

"Yeah--I know. I know." Nodding, Daniel fiddled with the rubber band he'd fitted around his presentation notes. "But that was an extreme circumstance."

He hated repeating himself. "In which diplomacy didn't do squat for us."

"The people of the Shavadi responded well to talks of peace and equality." Teal'c's voice was calm, but earnest. "Their leader was a thoughtful man. I see no such wisdom in the leader of the Pichits."

"Exactly." Jack jabbed his index finger towards his teammate. "Which is why we concentrate on retrieving our people and gaining a foothold on that bridge."

"You're not listening to me, as usual." Daniel tossed his sheaf of papers back down onto the table. "It's _their_ mine, Jack. _Their_ bridge. _Their_ gold. Do we really have the right to go in guns blazing?"

"Yes!"

"Why? What in heaven's name gives us that right?"

"Because they're holding our people!"

"Jack--for once, can you just be reasonable?"

"Damn it, Daniel!" The Colonel slammed his palm against the table. "Why can't _you_ be reasonable for once? We don't leave our people behind!"

"I'm not suggesting we leave them behind. I'm suggesting that we go and discuss this reasonably before we shoot the place up."

"' _Reasonably_.'" Jack raised a brow. "What exactly does being _reasonable_ entail to you? Letting the Pichits punish Erickson as they'd wanted? Slater mentioned something about twenty lashes. Maybe we could diplomatically get them to reduce that to ten."

"Damn it, Jack!" Daniel steepled his fingers on his waist, shaking his head. "Why is diplomacy always anathema to you? Why can't you evolve past jumping to violence every single time?"

The Colonel pushed back from the table, straightening in his chair. "According to you, these people are stuck in the Stone Ages."

"They're descendants of the ancient Picts in England. That's more than a little removed from the Stone Age, Jack."

"Whatever." Jack scrubbed at his face with his palm. He had to clench his jaw to keep from shouting. "It seems to be obvious to everyone but you that they aren't going to respond well to us showing up singing 'Kum-Ba-Ya'. All that will get us is arrows in our collective asses."

"It might earn us a relationship with the people. It might earn us their trust." Making a strangled sort of sound, Daniel turned towards Carter, who had ducked her chin towards her sternum. She suddenly seemed to find the wood grain of the table intensely intriguing. But Daniel wasn't going to let her stay out of the heat. "Sam agrees with me, too. She and I have talked about this. I'll bet that she thinks that the Pichits could be convinced that we can be their friends. Right Sam?"

Jack turned his head slightly so that he could see her. She looked tight--wound up--more tense than he'd seen her in a while. Fraiser had given her a clean bill of health since they'd returned from the mines, but O'Neill wasn't convinced. In the last week, his Second in Command just hadn't seemed like herself.

Right now, she was chewing on her bottom lip as she stared down at the still-closed folder on the table in front of her. A dozen thoughts scurried across her face as she searched for the response she wanted. Taking a deep breath, she twiddled the pencil between her fingers before responding. "Honestly, Daniel. I'm not convinced that diplomacy will work in this particular instance."

"But--"

"The Colonel is right on this one. From what I've observed of their society, the Pichits will probably respond better to a show of force, rather than a meek attempt at reconciliation."

The look on Daniel's face was a perfect combination of disbelief and disappointment. "Sam--Come on. You can't be serious."

"Why can't I be serious?"

"You're a scientist, Sam. Surely you can graduate beyond the wanton use of brute strength."

Sam's eyes narrowed even as her brows crept upward. "So, an accomplished scientist who happens to be highly skilled in the fields of physics and astronomy can't be trusted to figure out how best to deal with an ancient civilization who has barely discovered the wheel? My military background automatically precludes me from rational thought? Geez, Daniel. How can you stand being around me? I might blow at any minute. Run away, Daniel! Run away!"

Jack pursed his lips, noticing the dangerous color seeping up her throat. If he knew one thing about Sam Carter, it was that true anger took a while to fester, but once it exploded, things usually ended up in itty-bitty pieces.

Including people.

Inhaling deeply, Jack stood, turning towards the younger man. It took every ounce of self control he possessed to keep him voice even. "Daniel, just lay off. Why don't we all take a break for lunch--"

"Breakfast, I think, Jack. It's barely nine in the morning."

O'Neill shot him a quelling look. "Whatever. Let's take a break. That way you can live until it actually is lunchtime."

He looked over towards Carter's chair, but she was already gone.

 

\--------OOOOOOO-------

 

She'd left the Mountain. 

To be honest, he hadn't expected that. After the blow-up with Daniel, she'd grabbed her papers off the table in an efficient sweep and bee-lined for the door without a single glance towards him or anyone else. Jack hadn't seen her since. 

Eight hours later, he stood in the doorway of her darkened lab, prickled to the core by the eerie silence. He'd already checked the Control Room and the Mess. No dice. Briefly, he thought about calling up the Infirmary to see if she'd taken refuge with Doctor Fraiser, but deep down in his gut--where that hyper-awareness for all things _Carter_ seemed to have settled--he knew that she was no longer on base.

And if he had to guess where she'd gone. . .

Behind him fell the sound of familiar footsteps, and then an equally familiar voice. "Hey, Jack."

O'Neill sighed. He turned slightly away from the doorway to see Daniel angling across the hallway towards Sam's door.

To Daniel's credit, the younger man managed to look more than a little contrite. "Have you seen Sam?"

"She doesn't seem to be here." Jack jerked a brow towards the empty lab. "I think she's already headed home."

"Well, crud." Shoving his hands into his pockets, Daniel grimaced. "I wanted to talk to her before I left."

"Something in particular? 

"No--not really." But then he cast a sheepish look down towards his shoes. "Okay, yes. I needed to apologize. I know she was pretty pissed at me earlier." 

"That's one way to put it." 

"Is there another way?" 

O'Neill turned until he was square with the other man. "I'd say she was hurt, more than anything else."

"C'mon Jack." Snorting a little, Daniel rocked backwards on his heels. "Sam's not some kind of fragile princess."

"No, but she's also not some cold-hearted mercenary bent on global destruction." 

"I know that." 

"Really?" The Colonel's eyes widened. "Because it kind of seemed liked that's what you were implying." 

"Jack--I--" Daniel ran a tight hand through his hair. "That's not what I intended." 

"Maybe." O'Neill pressed his lips together. "Or maybe it's exactly what you intended." 

For several long breaths, they just stood, both staring into the darkness of the deserted laboratory. 

Finally, Daniel grunted out an epithet. "I guess I just expected something different from her." He shrugged, a one-shouldered affair that meant precisely nothing. "Something less--like you." 

"And that's the problem, Daniel." Jack sent the other man a sidelong glare. "You don't really understand her."

 

\------OOOOOOO-------

 

The bar was crowded again. The sound of the billiard balls clunking against each other was almost lost amid the music and chatter. Every once in a while, someone would laugh, or whoop, or squeal, but the place just seemed to convulse in a constant state of loud mumbling. Jack made a quick, thorough scan of the place--more out of habit than interest. He recognized several of the patrons from the last time he'd been there. One in particular caught his attention. Big, impressive in his own way, his eyes met Jack's before trailing away towards the bar, where a familiar form sat on her customary seat. Cocking a brow, the man lifted his beer in Jack's direction with a haphazard kind of salute before turning back to the little redhead he'd been chatting up. O'Neill guessed that meant that Loverboy had ceded victory.

He'd take it. It'd been a long, dry spell lately. Drier still for the fact that what he wanted-- _who_ he wanted--practically lived within his pockets, yet was still completely out of reach. 

She sat alone again, untouched by the rest of the crowd as if an invisible dome had settled over her body, erecting a barrier between herself and the melange of other bar patrons. She'd changed into civvies--jeans and a sweater that draped soft and wide at the neck, exposing the long, elegant line of her nape curving down towards her shoulders. Jack tried not to think about how soft that skin was, how cool and smooth he remembered it to be. 

He failed. 

His eyes drifted shut for a beat before he started forward again. As if on cue, the girl on the stool next to Carter's slid down and made for a curtained hallway on the north end of the building. The bathroom, most likely. She'd left a half-empty beer on the bar, but nothing else to indicate that the spot was still hers. His Aunt Mildred had a phrase for moments like this. _"Shuffle thy feet, lose thy seat."_ The memory tugged his lips into a wry grin as he aimed for the empty stool.

Jack stopped just to Carter's right, angling sideways into the space between the bar stools before cautiously settling on the recently-vacated one. Signaling the bartender, he leaned forward on the bar, resting his weight on his elbows. 

She didn't acknowledge his presence, even when he cleared his throat. Didn't so much as glance in his direction as he made his order to the bartender. Or when the girl brought back his Guinness. 

Finally, he leaned in towards her, bumping her shoulder with his own. Indicating the mess of greasy goodness that sat before her, he asked, "So, is it good?" 

Startled, Carter's gaze flew towards him, her eyes morphing from confusion to annoyance to surprise in mere moments. With an odd little grunt, she looked down at her plate before turning her head back to answer him. "Who knows? I'm not even sure what this is supposed to be." 

"Didn't you order them?" 

"Nope." She tilted her head towards the big guy still watching them from the billiards area. "He always sends me random food to eat. He said something about 'greasing my wheels' at one point. I'm not sure I want to know what he meant."

Jack bit back a smile. "Looks like chili cheese fries." 

She picked a bit of food carnage from her plate with a grace totally unsuited for the dish, raising a single saucy fry to her lips. Eyes narrowed, she took a careful bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Good eye. These are, indeed, chili cheese fries." 

He offered a grin rife with false modesty. "I know my junk food." 

She licked some cheese off the pad of her thumb. "Apparently." 

Blithely taking a swig from his beer, he motioned towards the plate with the bottle. "They're Teal'c's favorite, you know."

"Are they?" Her brows rose as she slid the plate closer to him. "He seems to avoid carbs on base."

"He can down platefuls of that stuff." Jack reached over and pulled a few fries from the mess, pausing to let the worst of the chili drip from the ends before depositing them into his own mouth. They tasted better than they'd looked. Or maybe it was the company. Or maybe it was that he hadn't eaten since before the meeting they'd had that morning. Whatever, he was more careful than usual as he chewed and swallowed--having Carter's full attention on him as he did so made him intensely aware of himself. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating all at once. "Daniel and I took him out to eat the other day, and he ate a full serving of these _and_ a plateful of onion rings as an appetizer."

She helped herself to more--her attention still on O'Neill. "Well, I guess you can indulge like that when you've got a symbiote futzing with your metabolism." 

"Exactly. Lucky bastard." 

That got enough of a smile that the dimple appeared in her right cheek. "I'm not sure I'd go that far. I'd really hate to be a Jaffa." 

Jack took a long swig of his beer. "True. But it'd be really nice to be able to down a half-gallon of Tin Roof Sundae and not have to do extra cardio later on." 

"Tin Roof Sundae?"

"Yeah--I love those little chocolate-covered peanuts."

Her look turned speculative. "Interesting." 

"What?" 

"I would have pegged you for a Rocky Road kind of guy." 

He grimaced, casting her a side-long glance. "I'm not big on marshmallows." 

She took her time with her response, uncharacteristically studying his face before leaning towards him, balancing her chin on one upturned hand. "I didn't know that." 

"Well, now you do." 

Her tongue darted across her lips as she smiled again. "So, from here on out, I'll put the kibosh on s'mores, too."

Damned if he wasn't feeling it again--the earth-shaking realization that he craved this easy repartee with her. Jack looked downward, trying to escape the intensity of her blue gaze, only to find that their knees were touching. She'd turned just enough on her seat, and he'd always been angled towards her--but it wasn't uncomfortable. It just felt natural to have her so near. It felt right to have her warmth resting against him. 

Too much so, damn it. 

He'd had to touch her in Shyla's mines, but here, away from the heat and the pain and the desperation of captivity, he shouldn't trust himself enough to be casual with her. Not after that night so few weeks ago. Not after waking up entwined in her arms. Not after wanting so desperately to stay there in her bed with her. Those bare toes--her sleep-warmed skin--the tousled mess of her hair--it all still haunted him. When he closed his eyes--well, damn. Just damn. 

However innocent it had been, if he could do it again, he would. He still wasn't sure where to file that little tidbit. Nowhere appropriate, that was for sure. Nowhere allowed. Hadn't he been building a wall at some point in the not-so-distant past? He should probably start considering starting up construction on that again.

She took his hesitation the wrong way, her eyes radiating an apology. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company at the moment."

"No." He waved her off. "It's me. I just got a little lost there." 

"Oh." She tightened a little. "Still tired?"

 "A bit." He scrubbed at the stubble on his chin with the back of his hand. "You?"

"Yeah." Glancing over at him, she nodded before snagging another fry.

He shrugged. Nonchalant, easy, friendly--right? "So, a few good meals, some sleep, and you should be good as new, right?"

"Yeah. I guess." She looked down at her plate, a soft little frown playing at the corner of her mouth. "It's been a rough few weeks. It's been nice to get back to some sort of schedule." 

"Fraiser says your numbers are back to normal. So, that's something." 

"Normal." Sam reached towards the glass of water on the bar in front of her. Lifting it to her mouth, she paused on a wry smile. "I suppose. Although I'm not sure exactly what that's supposed to mean anymore."

"I hear you." Jack watched as she set down her glass and reached for another fry. Using it like a spoon, she scraped up a glob of melted cheese from the side of the plate. With her focus on her task, he could study her openly--see how tense she'd become--how a slow blush had made its way up from her shoulders towards her throat. The color staining her skin had nothing to do with the food, or the close environment of the bar. It was like she'd veiled her face, shadowing any true emotions. As if she'd donned a mask. He found himself leaning even closer, lowering his voice. "Our brand of 'normal' isn't for everyone." 

Carter's eyes drifted closed for the briefest of moments. Her jaw worked a few times before she opened them again. After what seemed like forever, she tilted a look at him. "Sometimes, I wonder if it's even right for me." 

"Oh?"

Her gaze didn't waver. "Can I speak frankly?"

Leaning slightly backward, Jack lowered his hands to rest on his thighs. "Always." 

She exhaled sharply, ducking her chin in a tiny nod. "Okay." 

O'Neill frowned, then reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Digging around for an appropriate bill, he tossed it onto the counter, took another long draw from his beer, and then set it down on the counter as he stood. "But let's go somewhere else." 

It was late--activity at the bar had just livened up, but the strip mall next door had already closed down for the night. O'Neill followed Carter through the parking lot and into a courtyard of sorts at the center of the darkened mall, where a dozen or so round, concrete tables gathered around a few boarded-up kiosks. Poles had been placed strategically--presumably for awnings to be attached to during inclement weather. Tonight, however, the tables sat under a clear, pristine sky.

She stopped next to a random table. "This one?"

"It's your talk, Carter. Your choice."

"Okay, then." She slid onto the bench on one side of the table, watching as he lowered himself to the bench opposite. "This is awkward." 

"A little." 

Her deep breath was bracing rather than restorative. "This one really threw me. In the past, the missions have been interesting and challenging and maybe a little heartbreaking--but this one felt more personal." 

"Why?" 

"I'm not sure." But she was prevaricating. That tinge of color appeared just below her ears again. At the Colonel's silence, she revamped, biting her lip for the briefest of moments before continuing. "That's not true. I do know what bothered me so much. It was Daniel."

"Daniel?"

"I understand protocol. You're the leader of our team. You're the Colonel. I understand the chain of command, and so does Teal'c. But Daniel--well, he understands it, but he just doesn't care. He's the one that ran after the princess. He got us captured. He didn't move fast enough when we were trying to escape the mines, and we got captured again. And then he went and got himself addicted to that damned sarcophagus and we nearly died waiting for him to get his head back together enough to negotiate our release."

"All of that's true."

"And then he has the gall to make it sound like I'm some sort of mindless grunt shooting my way through the Galaxy."

"But that was today." Jack flattened his hand against the cold cement of the table top. "You've been a little touchy since long before this morning." 

"Touchy." The word sounded worse rolling off her tongue--less innocuous. "That's a kind way to put it." 

"I'm nothing if not politic." 

She raised a brow in blatant skepticism, then roughed up her palms against her thighs. "Yes, well. I just think that the entire situation was his fault--I mean, I know that he's a humanitarian. I know that he cares more for the people than the mission. I should have guessed that he would try to save the girl once we figured out what her intentions were, but I also thought that he would care more about us than about her." 

"Shyla." Glancing at the stars overhead, Jack unzipped his jacket. 

"Pardon?" 

"Shyla." Jack frowned at the Captain as he eased the leather off his shoulders. "Wasn't that her name?"

"Was it?" Sam's brows drew together. "I guess I wasn't paying enough attention." 

"Too busy trying to survive?" 

"Something like that." Even in the moonlight, her eyes seemed too bright. "I was so tired--so exhausted. And Teal'c tried to let you and me get at least a little rest when the guards weren't around, but every time I'd close my eyes, the visions would happen. The memories--or whatever they were. They were as exhausting as the work. It was--" Her voice broke a bit. Pressing her lips tightly together, she traced a random pattern on the cold cement with a single finger. 

"It was hard." 

"Yes." A sideways glance at him was fleeting. "And then when we finally got home, Daniel was just wildly erratic, and I know that he'd been traumatized, too, but he said things that were--hurtful." 

"He was under the influence, Carter." 

"I know."

But her tone seemed less than certain. Jack worked his way through the myriad implications of what she hadn't said. "But you still think that it was his fault." 

"Daniel chose to run after her, despite your orders to stay put. He decided to disregard protocol. He decided to try to resolve the issue in a way that left himself open to the sarcophagus' influence, and left us in that hellhole. He thinks that diplomacy can solve any problem, even the ones which obviously need more forceful measures. And he allowed us to nearly be worked to death." 

"I'm sure that he didn't intend for us to die." 

"But that's what the eventual result would have been."

"Carter--"

"He's idealistic. He doesn't often see the reality of the situation. He's naive." 

"That's who he is, Captain." The Colonel gestured with an open palm. "You know that." 

"True." She glowered down at her hand. "But shouldn't he have figured out by now that the Galaxy doesn't often work the way he thinks it should?" 

There really wasn't any good answer to that. As much as Carter was right in her assessment, Jack knew without a doubt that she was also aware that the team needed Daniel to be exactly who he was. Accepting Daniel's genius also meant fully accepting his proclivities. Besides, he knew how important Daniel's friendship was to her--how close they were. She was angry for now, but he knew he well enough to know that she didn't want to be angry with him--and that fact was probably fueling her ire.

Hesitantly, he probed a little. "So, can I ask?" 

"Ask what?" She looked up at him, fully meeting his scrutiny.

"What did he say to you?" Jack's voice was quiet in the night, little more than a whisper. "What was it that got you so upset?" 

Her eyes narrowed, and she abruptly stood, stepping backwards over the concrete bench and away from the table. 

"Carter?"

"Just--stuff." Sam paced a few steps in one direction before turning away from him completely and standing still, her arms crossed before her. "He wasn't himself--I know that. But you also know that, even high or stoned, whatever you say has an element of truth. Of what you really believe." 

"You don't know that." 

"I do."

He paused, watching her gather something--her thoughts, perhaps. Or her courage. "So? What was it?" 

She turned halfway, so he could see her in full profile. The moonlight limned her hair and shoulders, making them nearly glow. But her eyes--still dark. Still hurt. She took a deep breath, her shoulders rising with the effort. Without turning to him, she lifted her chin and exhaled into the night. "It's just kind of embarrassing, Sir." 

Jack stood, rounding the the table until he stood a few feet away from her. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he bit back a rueful smile. "I think we've already crossed that bridge, Carter. Remember--I've heard you talking in your sleep." 

"Oh--well." She rolled her eyes a bit, the dimple showing in her cheek when she smiled. "Talking in my sleep. How horrific."

"I've heard you fart."

She bit back a strangled little laugh at that. "That's true." 

"So?" 

Those perfect little teeth worried at her lip again. As she opened her mouth to speak, she threw him a look that reeked of false dismissiveness. "He said that I didn't understand what true love was. That I'd never felt it. He said that I couldn't understand what he was feeling because I'd never had that kind of relationship in my life. He implied that I wasn't capable of it. Or deserving. Or something."

Damn. Jack stood stock-still, unable to do more than frown. "Carter--I--" 

But she didn't let him continue. "And it's stupid--I know. I shouldn't have been so upset by that. But I guess it just made me realize that he's right. I was engaged to Jonas, but that relationship wasn't optimal. I've been in relationships--I've dated. But you three--"

"What about us?"

Her gaze was searching. "All three of you have had been married. You've all had something--more."

"Carter--" 

"And I'm not looking for that kind of relationship in my life right now." Sam lifted a hand to sift through her hair. "Really, I'm not. But I'm not a nun, right? I might be open for something, were it to happen. I'd like to have someone to share my life with." 

"Of course." 

"But they way he said it." Craning her neck, she looked upwards, as if searching for answers in the stars themselves. "The way he said it made it sound like I wasn't worthy of any of that. Like I had somehow chosen to live a life of solitude, and that's all I should expect." 

Hell and damn. Jack watched her study the sky, watched her work her way through the thoughts buffeting their way through that glorious brain of hers. The moonlight highlighted her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her chin, the graceful curve of her collarbones. He could see her pulse as it throbbed in her slim throat. Damn, damn, damn. 

If she only knew. 

But she'd turned back towards him, her expression shadowed with awkwardness, her small smile equal parts awkwardness and sadness "And now I'm totally mortified that I told you any of that."

"It's all right, Carter." His hands were tightly fisted in his pockets. Realizing it, he forced himself to relax. "I asked."

"You did, Sir." She nodded before casting him a cautious look. "Are you sorry?"

"Of course not." He offered a wary shrug. "It matters to me."

"What matters?" Crossing her arms at her rib cage, she looked down at her feet rather than at him. "My lack of love life?"

"Your happiness." His voice came out more softly than he'd intended. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I need my team to be healthy. If you're pissed off at each other, I need to know why so that we can fix it." 

"Ah." She scuffed her shoe against the sectioned concrete flooring of the courtyard. "So how do I accomplish that? I mean--I can't just keep going around being mad at him."

"No, you can't."

"Ultimately, he's my friend." She sighed. "And I know that I'm kind of having a hissy-fit because what he said made me more aware than ever of certain things that I might be overly sensitive about, right?"

Squinting past her, Jack skewered a look at the kiosk at the center of the food court, before frowning. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe." Finally, he allowed himself to catch her gaze full-on, let himself watch her as she watched him back. "And maybe you're not actually peeved about what he said, but rather at the fact that he put us all in the position to have those things _be_ said." 

She considered, her eyes making a leisurely examination of his expression. "Like what I mentioned before. If he hadn't disobeyed your orders--"

"Then he wouldn't have gotten us all captured in the first place."

"And that's what ultimately led to his addiction." Tilting her head to one side, she didn't look away from the Colonel. "And led to him being just whacked out enough to say what he did."

"Could be?"

A slow nod, and a real--albeit small--smile. "Could be." 

Pivoting on her heel, she stepped towards him, stopping not more than a few feet away from him. Too close--if truth be known. Close enough that he could smell her perfume, and make out the individual wind-tousled strands of her hair. Close enough that it wouldn't take much to reach for her. To touch her. To feel the softness of her sweater, her skin, in his hands.

Walls. Build walls, he reminded himself. Tearing his gaze away from her, he made a seemingly random step backwards, turning slightly away from her, putting space between them. His hands went deep into his pockets again, his body steeling itself against the surge of want that hovered at his core. 

"It's a beautiful night." 

His answer was a random hum, a nod, an expression. He didn't trust himself with more.

Carter lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, sucking in a deep breath and sighing it back out. "Kind of windy." 

"Maybe it's time to go." 

She cast him an odd smile. "Probably."

Jack watched as she gathered herself back together, a fascinating process that he was fairly certain he'd never get tired of witnessing. More to pull himself back to reality than anything else, he narrowed a look at her. "So--you good?" 

"Yeah. Better, at least." Oh, that dimple again, teasing its way to the surface as she hinted at a smile. "But I _will_ be good." 

As if by unspoken command, they both turned back towards the way they'd come, walking back through the deserted mall as they headed to the parking lot of the bar. Companionable silence reigned until they'd reached the edge of the property, and Carter nodded towards the Super Duty parked at furthest reaches of the lot. "Is that your beast?"

"Yeah." 

"I've got the Indian. She's up near the front." 

"Okay." 

"Sir?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What happened with Erickson and the other hostages?"

Jack grinned. "Well, you were right, actually. I finally got a hold of Hammond, and he authorized an extraction. We sent our teams through, and the natives caved." 

"Good. I was worried." 

"They respected the show of force and have reinstated the treaty." 

She grinned through the dark at him, the street lights lending her expression an odd glow. "So, basically we were right. The Pichits needed to see strength rather than subtlety. I bet you can't wait to tell Daniel." 

Jack stepped across a concrete berm, waiting for her to do the same before answering. "Don't worry, Carter. I'll be gentle." 

A few more steps, and they'd reached his Super Duty. She stopped near the truck's driver's side door, turning to face him as he caught up. "The wicked side of me really wishes that you'd whack him over the head with it."

Reaching into his pocket for his keys, he angled a look over at her. "That could be arranged, too." 

Sam leaned back against his truck as he unlocked the door. "I was kidding." 

"I'm kind of not." He couldn't quell the grin that spread across his features. "Damn, but wouldn't that be satisfying?" 

"Sir." Her tone was slightly admonishing, but her eyes shone with amusement. 

"I know, I know." He took a step closer. "He's our teammate. He's our friend. Don't kill him. Yada yada. Blah blah blah."

"Colonel." She straightened, moving towards him. "You don't mean that."

And for the briefest moment, it was like they were back in her entry way, the tile cold beneath her bare feet, her knees peeping out from beneath the over-large t-shirt she'd been wearing. Her smile was small, more than mildly disapproving, but still intimate. Still so 'Carter' that it made his fingers itch. 

He pressed his lips together against the response that threatened--one that had nothing at all to do with the conversation--and shrugged instead, urging a brow upwards in what he hoped was casual acquiescence. 

Her narrowed eyes showed her skepticism. She knew him too well. "Colonel, please don't think that because I was annoyed or angry or whatever that I don't still love Daniel. He's a close friend. It's just that close friends can sometimes know precisely where to shove the dagger." 

"I know."

"And it's been harder for me than I thought it would be to separate his actions from who he really is." 

"I know that, too." 

"So, please." She inched closer, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, see the individual strands of her hair. "Please don't take this out on him."

All in all, it was really an easy promise to make. He knew that they needed to achieve true cohesion as a unit, and taking pot shots wasn't the way to accomplish that goal. Jack wouldn't have done or said anything for that reason alone. But those eyes--huge and earnest and a little sad--Damn. 

Just damn it all.

 

\------OOOOOOO------

 

"Any idea why we're here?" 

"It's all an evil plan, Daniel." 

"Well--I could have figured that out by myself, Jack." 

O'Neill proffered a smile. "Well, you _are_ the resident smarty-pants, aren't you?"

Daniel grinned. "Oh no--Sam's way smarter than I am."

They stood outside the base gym, dressed in nearly identical sweat pants and t-shirts. Daniel wore a pristine pair of sneakers--incongruous next to the Colonel's well-worn boots. He'd also knotted a handkerchief around his head. It took a few beats for Jack's curiosity to ripen.

"What's with the--" he motioned with a single finger towards the other's man's headdress.

Daniel frowned, then lifted a hand to touch the fabric covering his hair. "Oh--this. I--uh--I don't like to get sweaty."

"Sweaty."

"Yeah. It's hot and drippy and runs down into my eyes and ears and stings." He adjusted the fit of the knotted handkerchief slightly before folding his arms across his chest. "It's icky."

"Icky."

"Yup." Nodding, he narrowed his gaze at his teammate. "Icky."

"All right then." Jack leaned back against the wall next to the door.

"So, is Sam coming?"

"Yeah. And Teal'c. I hear he's back from the planet."

"He stayed another night, but I was afraid that Shyla was getting too close again, so I came home last evening." 

"How did that work, exactly?" 

Daniel's brows lowered. "What--the Shyla thing?"

"No. I get how that one works, Romeo." Jack couldn't help the smirk that eked out there. "But I was talking about the Teal'c thing. Ostensibly, he was there to teach the Non-Jaffa Jaffa to _not_ be Jaffa because they aren't, indeed, Jaffa. A course in being 'human' taught by a--"

"Jaffa." 

"Jaffa."

They'd smiled around that irony at the same time. 

Shrugging, Daniel tilted his head in consideration. "He actually did a great job of reorganizing their command structure into something more resembling a police force than a Jaffa regiment. They're dispensing with the tattoos and hierarchy, and transitioning to a looser, albeit still quasi-military, structure. But you're right. It was a little weird." 

Jack's attention rose to where a lightbulb flickered in the overhead fluorescent array. "I would have loved to have been a fly on that wall." 

"Yeah." Daniel nodded. Shoving his glasses up higher on his nose, he scanned the hallway for movement. "So, where are they?" 

"They'll be here." 

As if by design, the two other team members turned the corner at just that moment. Sam carried two large gym bags, while Teal'c balanced a half-dozen thick poles in his arms. Jack turned and opened the gym doors wide, shoving the door as far as it would go to allow Sam and Teal'c to pass through without hitting anything with their unwieldy cargo. Daniel followed behind--a little wary--but more curious than anything else. 

Teal'c and Sam deposited the equipment onto the largest of the mats in the center of the gym. Typically, the area was used for instruction and demonstrations in the art of hand-to-hand combat, and bustled with activity, but today, SG-1 were the only ones there. Walking onto the mat, the Colonel made a cursory check of the items there before he towards his team, steepling his fingers at his waist. "Okay. You know that on the last mission we hit a few--road bumps." 

Even Sam seemed surprised by the snort she exhaled. Color crept up her throat towards her cheeks. Tightening her lips, she stared steadily at the Colonel, avoiding eye-contact with anyone else. 

"Anyhoo." Jack reached down and picked up a pole. "Listen up. This is called a bo-staff. It's used for hand-to-hand combat and specific martial arts training." Bending, he dug around in the bag and withdrew what looked like a pool noodle. With a practiced motion, he shoved the foam cylinder on the end of the pole. "Today, we will be practicing various methods of evading capture by using found objects--sticks, branches, rocks and the like--in order to prepare us for whatever else we might encounter while off-world. These foam pieces will protect you from injury while we are sparring with each other." 

"Wait--you mean we're going to actually fight each other?" Daniel scowled at Jack. "Like--actually fight?" 

"Not fight-fight, Daniel." Jack gestured with the staff, hefting it in the younger man's direction. "Sparring. Exercises. Learning some moves. You know--practicing." 

"And how is this foam thingy supposed to keep us safer?" 

"It'll soften the blows. You'll feel them, but they won't do anything really bad, like breaking bone." 

"So, it'll hurt?" 

"What, Daniel." Sam looked over at her teammate. "Are you afraid of a little pain?" 

"Not afraid, per se, but certainly not enthusiastic about the concept." 

"Pain is not a concept, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c melodious voice seeped through the room. "Pain is a fact of life. One would do well to learn how to accept it and fight through it rather than merely succumbing to its discomforts." 

He wasn't convinced. That was evident in how he crept cautiously towards the staffs in the middle of the mat, toeing one with his bright, shiny trainer. "Well, as an archaeologist, I never really expected to have to learn how to bean people on the head with a stick."

"Come, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c joined his friend on the mat, bending to secure a pair of foam guards. "Let us prepare for faux battle."

Jack took the moment to take a few steps towards Sam. Stopping close, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats. "So. You okay?" 

Her eyes tilted upwards towards his. "Yeah. I mean--this is important stuff, right?" 

"No. I was talking about the other night. You were a little down." 

"I'll live, Sir." She glanced over to where Daniel was testing the weight of his chosen staff. "I'm not sure that this whole thing was necessary."

"Of course it's necessary." Jack nodded. "You were right that his actions, and then inaction, nearly killed us. Training's the only way to avoid that in the future." 

"No, Sir. I was talking about this whole set up. I have the feeling that you want me to pair up with Daniel. Am I right?" 

No answer was truly necessary, so he didn't give her one. 

"I'm not sure that this is the way to get this out of my system."

O'Neill paused for a beat, studying her face before answering. "When I was a kid, I had a friend who was kind of a putz. You know the kind--he's the only other kid on the street that you can play with, but the two of you drive each other crazy."

"Sir?"

"Bear with me, Carter." He breathed deeply. "Milo and I hung out with each other every day, until one day we were playing something--cops and robbers, I think--and he threw a punch that he insisted was pretend, but he caught me right on the nose."

"Ouch." 

"Damn right, 'ouch'. He broke it. I bled everywhere--all over my new Cubs' shirt, all over my front porch, all over everything. I punched back, and pretty soon we were having ourselves a helluva fist fight right there on my front lawn. My father heard us and turned the hose on us."

She tried not to smile at that image, but gave up after a split second and grinned outright, instead.

"So, we yelled at each other that we weren't friends anymore--we weren't ever going to hang out again. I believe that he called me a jerk-face and I called him a poo-poo head or something stupid like that. He hopped on his bike and took off home, and I didn't see him for weeks."

"Okay." Her tone indicated that she was waiting for him to continue.

"I was miserable. Totally miserable. I had nobody to play with, and nothing to do, and my dad happened to be home between deployments at the time, and so he was peeved that I was whining all the time. So, he rounded me up and grabbed this bag from the garage, and led me down the street to Milo's house. He knocked on the door and Milo's dad answered. The man was huge--I didn't realize it at the time, but he and my dad served together in the Army, and they knew each other pretty well. Mr. Henderson led us out back where there was a big grassy area, and he and my dad strapped us into these boxing gloves that he'd brought in the gym bag."

"Why?"

"Because we needed to settle it. Right? We needed to fight it out. Anyway, one of them gave a signal, and Milo and I just went at each other. We were the baddest nine year old boys in the history of the world, and we just lit into each other like prizefighters. But after about ten minutes of wailing on each other, though, we were so exhausted that all we could do was fall to the grass and laugh. Even as a smart-ass kid, I knew that the argument was over, and we were friends again."

A little wrinkle had formed at the bridge of her nose, and her brows had drawn together. "But you fought each other. How did that make you friends again?"

Turning, Jack leveled a pointed glance towards where Daniel stood on the mat, wielding his staff as if he were a Samurai warrior. "Because sometimes, Carter, that's what it takes."

"Sir--I--"

But he stopped her with a little lean towards her, and a deceptively casual shrug. "You know I'm right, Captain. This is the chance you've been needing. He's got to have some training in something besides Abydonian hiding techniques if he's going to keep the rest of us out of trouble. And besides. I kind of owe you." 

After a short, wild look over to Teal'c and Daniel, she tilted her head in his direction, her voice a mere-whisper. "For what? I didn't do anything for you."

"Because it was ultimately about me, Carter."

"How so?"

"Because he was trying to prove himself to me. I've treated him a little less than--nice--at times, and he doesn't feel like I value his contributions. Back on the planet, while he was tripping on sarcophagus-juice, he made it plain that his determination to solve the problem on his own was in direct response to how I've acted towards him. It wasn't Daniel that nearly got you killed." Jack looked down at his boots, scowling. "It was me."

She made an odd, strangled sound deep in her throat, like a sigh gone wrong. "Sir, please don't--"

"Just take it, Carter." O'Neill growled. "You never know when you'll be able to take advantage of this kind of opportunity again. Trust me. You'll feel better."

"Sir--"

"Carter." He inched backwards, away from her. "Just go. Teach him a thing or two. It'll be cathartic."

"So, you're teaming up with Teal'c?"

"Yes." The Colonel sighed heavily. "I'll try not to die so that you can get a chance to beat the tar out of me, too."

He could practically hear her arguing with herself. Her face seemed to pass through a thousand emotions before finding the one she wanted. A nod. A smidgen of time spent with her top lip captured delicately between her teeth. A hint of a smile. "Actually, that sounds like fun."

"I thought you might like that." He took a few more steps away from her, aiming towards the equipment in the middle of the mat.

"Sir."

He turned. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Good heavens above--there was that smile. That brilliant flash of white teeth and dimples. The perfect, glorious understanding that flared across her too-intelligent features. He should have known that she'd get it. That she, of all people, would comprehend the whys and whats and wherefores of his completely whack-a-doo plan.

That she would so utterly understood _him_. Appreciate _him_.

Truly, it was humbling. And if he had to take a few loaded staff-hits from a Jaffa to give her a teeny bit of satisfaction--well, so be it. He'd suck it up on as many levels as it took. Because she deserved at least that much. And more, if truth be told.

But that wall--well, hell. That wall needed to be built, and soon.

 

 


End file.
